The Luck of the Irish
by dinacarter
Summary: I noticed that there aren't many stories dealing with Amos, and I always felt that he deserved better. To make up for it, here's just a little short story to give the poor guy the love he deserves. Rated M for a reason ;
1. Chapter 1

**The Luck Of The Irish**

.

She was always there. When he went to bed at night. When he arose in the morning. He simply could not stop thinking about her. Not that he really wanted to—thinking about her was exciting him, yet frustrating at the same time. She disrupted his thoughts at the most awkward times; at home, at work--even at church. The worst were the early mornings, before the sun rose. Time and again, he'd hauled himself from the depths of a rather sensual dream where her mouth had been on his, her soft skin hot and silky beneath his hands. It had left him frustrated and aching with need way too many times.

With a sigh, Amos Hart rolled onto his back, eyes closed against the shadowy semi-darkness of his bedroom. As much as he tried, sleep just wouldn't come, eluding him once again as it had done so often these last three weeks. Fourteen months had gone by since his divorce from Roxie, thirteen months since he had last seen her--even more time had passed since they had last shared the double bed he was presently occupying by himself.

He missed her. No, it wasn't Roxie herself he missed, but rather what she had represented; someone to share his life with, someone to love, to care about. He missed the comfort that came with curling up beside someone at night, he missed not being lonely.

Amos had come to dread returning home to a dark and empty flat at night. There was no wife, no little ones waiting for him. His only companion was loneliness--constant, ever present loneliness.

Yes, despite having plenty of friends, he was lonely, so lonely that it hurt sometimes.

Amos had no illusions; he was painfully aware of the fact that he wasn't the best-looking man, nor was he as smart as the likes of Billy Flynn, Roxie's lawyer. But he was of good character and he was a hard worker. _So why was he still alone?_ Deep down inside, he knew the answer; those usually desirable qualities were not a priority for most women nowadays. He should know, he had been married to one.

A frown darkened Amos' homely features. A meal ticket. Yes, that's all he'd ever been to Roxie. Nothing more. Some of his friends had warned him, but at the time, he wouldn't have any of it. He had been head over heels in love with Roxie—or so at least, he'd thought. He should have known, seen the warning signs, but no, he'd been too blind to see anything—anything but the false love and attention she had showered him with. Yes, he should have known when she had coaxed him into bed the second night after they had met, professing her love for him. Unlike Amos, Roxie had known exactly what she was doing. He should have known right then.

Somewhere in the flat above, someone was using the water closet. The muffled rush of flushing water, followed by the creaking of the floorboards, drifted to his ear. Amos pulled the featherbed tighter around himself against the chill of the frigid night air. It was only the beginning of November, but already had Chicago seen its first snow of the season. Amos sighed again; it was going to be a long winter—in more ways than just one.

_Red hair, almost as curly as his own_, he thought as his mind drifted back to his previous, more pleasant thoughts. _Long and shiny, done up in a loose topknot_. He wondered what it would look like tumbled down around her shoulders.

A smile curved Amos' lips as he pictured her face. Her skin was fair--not a sickly pale, but rather healthy and glowing, the kind that comes with being a redhead by nature. She had a delicate scattering of freckles across her nose, and, unlike Roxie, she wore no make-up in an attempt to cover them. Her eyes were beautiful, bright and green. He remembered it all so well because she had looked at him once.

It had happened three weeks ago, after Sunday mass; as he was preparing to leave the sanctuary, she had come up along side him with a friend of hers. For only the briefest of moments had their gazes met, but the lively intelligence in her beautiful green eyes and the promise of tenderness and passion in her warm smile had been enough for Amos to instantly fall in love with her.

He knew her name was Annie. He didn't know her last name, but he didn't care. It was just a minor detail.

Yes, she was beautiful, and Amos was head over heels in love. The only problem was—she didn't even know he existed.

Or so at least, he thought.

.

Note from the author: I'm not sure if anyone is even still out there, reading CHICAGO stories....but if anyone likes the character of Amos Hart as much as I do and wants to see a happy ending for him--let me know and I'll gladly post the rest. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

.

.

"Hey, Amos, what's the matter with you? Are you day-dreamin' again?!" Seamus O' Leary gave his friend and co-worker a good-natured nudge. "Gimme that blasted wrench over there, will you?!"

The remark was followed by the chuckles of Michael Finnegan and Kieran Tully, prompting Amos to hastily hand over the requested tool.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he placed the wrench in Seamus' waiting hand.

For moment, a comfortable silence reigned in the garage. The only sound that could be heard was the clinking of tools as the three men were working on the 1927 Chevy Capitol in front of them.

Finally, Tully looked up to glance at the younger man across from him. He had known Amos ever since he had taken him on as his apprentice many years ago. Over time, Amos had become a close friend to him and his family.

It was one of the reasons why it was impossible for him to ignore the fact that Amos had been a little out of sorts lately. Even though Amos kept adamantly denying it, Tully still had a pretty good idea that it was "women trouble" that was bothering the younger man. Amos had certainly had his share--there wasn't anybody on the south side who didn't know about Amos and Roxie. The murder charges against Roxie. How she had played poor Amos for a patsy. The much publicized trial, false pregnancy—and then, of course, the divorce. The poor lad had taken it very hard indeed. But more than a year had passed since, and life had to go on—whether Amos liked it or not.

He winked at Amos. "Don't you think it's about time you find yourself a nice l'il lass?"

It had been a good-natured tease, nothing more, and Amos knew it. Teasing was a common way for the men to lighten up their long, often hard days, make time go by faster. Usually, he partook in their jests, sometimes quietly endured them, but today, Amos was not in the mood for any of it.

"Oh, fiddle sticks," he grumbled, "who needs women anyway?" He turned his attention back to the rocker cover in front of him, hoping that his action made Tully realize that he was unwilling to discuss the subject any further. He was wrong.

"Awww, come on, Amos," chuckled Seamus from the driver's seat, "we know what ails you…you need a woman. E'vry man does now an' then—even if yer name's Amos Hart."

Before Amos could think of an appropriate response, the others had already begun to chuckle their consent—much to his chagrin.

"Yeah, when's the last time you had yerself some fun?" wondered Finnegan now from across the garage where he was engaged in the task of mounting a tire onto a monstrous-looking, wooden rim.

"I don't need no fun, " insisted Amos irritated, "an' I sure don't need no woman!"

_No, Amos Hart did not need a woman—well, not just any woman anyway. Amos wanted Annie. _But he wisely kept that thought to himself.

Unfortunately, his irate response did little more than only egg his co-worker on.

With a loud clank, Michael Finnegan dropped his screwdriver into a nearby toolbox and then came strolling over where he casually leaned against the front end of the Chevy.

"Oh, c'mon now, you don't mean that," he said grinning. "Why don't you come over to Sally's with me tonite? I'm sure she can fix you up with a nice, l'il lassie. It'll do you good, Amos."

Amos sighed deeply, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh, will you give it a rest already?" he replied wearily without bothering to look up.

Sally Doyle or "Red Sally" as she was known to everyone on the south side, ran a "house of ill-repute" as his mother had called it. She was, what everyone called "the madam", in charge of half a dozen or so, more or less beautiful girls who were promising any man a good time for a few bucks. He himself had never gone inside—even though having thought about it at times. But he knew that most of his friends were paying Red Sally a regular visit.

Tully agreed. Sally wasn't the answer to Amos' problems. Although he was usually quite protective of Amos, he couldn't resist prodding him just a little now and then. He grinned around the unlit stump of a stogie dangling haphazardly from his lips.

"The lad doesn't need one of Sally's gals...what he needs is sumthin bet--"

But whatever else he was about to say got lost in the gust of wind that suddenly swept into the warm garage as someone pushed open the heavy metal door.

A woman, a shawl wrapped loosely around her head against the cold, entered quickly, closing the door behind herself.

Amos looked up. He could see that she was carrying a wicker basket, its handle cradled securely in the crook of her arm.

Tully rubbed his grease-covered hands together, Amos' "needs" suddenly forgotten. His mind was now occupied by an entirely different matter of far greater importance; it was lunchtime.

"Ah, 'bout time," he declared delighted, "almost thought ole O' Connor forgot about us!"

The woman stepped closer and stopped in front of Tully.

"I'm sorry if I'm late," she began to apologize, "it's my first day doin' deliveries an'--"

Immediately, Tully waved her off.

"Oh, nonsense, lass," he dismissed her, "no need to apologize!" He nodded towards an old, beat-up wooden table nearby. "Why don't you put it all over on that table yonder?"

The woman nodded, set down the lunch basket and then proceeded to pull down the obscuring shawl.

Almost instantly, a low whistle of appreciation escaped the burly mechanic's lips.

"My, you're definitely purdier to look at than that Sean-kid," he chuckled appreciatively, referring to their usual delivery boy. He cast Amos a quick side-glance and winked. "Whatcha think, lad?"

The moment, the young woman had pulled down the shawl, Amos' face had gone white. Now it quickly began to turn a deep shade of crimson.

"Ah…I--" he stammered, unable to come up with any more coherent a sentence. To make matters worse, it wasn't until a few seconds later that Amos realized that he was staring at her. Embarrassed, he mumbled an apology and then quickly jerked his head down, pretending to look for something in the engine compartment in front of him.

Tully shook his head, chuckling to himself_. _It wasn't difficult to see what Amos' problem with women was.

He turned his attention back to the young woman who was still regarding Amos--or better, what little was visible of him, with undisguised curiosity.

"What's your name, lass?" he asked as he studied the young woman's pretty freckled face. He couldn't remember having ever seen her at the grocery before.

"My name's Annie, Annie Sullivan," she volunteered. Her eyes continued to steal quick glances over Tully's shoulder, attempting to get better a glimpse of Amos who had his curly head almost completely buried in the engine compartment of the Chevy.

Tully's head dipped in acknowledgment.

"You must be Paddy Sullivan's daughter then--"

Annie nodded again and then smiled, now giving him her undivided attention.

"And you're Kieran Tully--Mr. O'Connor warned me about you."

Tully chuckled and the stogie bobbed up and down.

He, did, did he," he said as he began to wipe his hands on a dirt-stained towel, "what did the ol' scoundrel tell you?"

Annie cast him a sly smile, eyes alit with mischief.

"That's for me to know an' for you to find out." She winked and then added, "He wants me to remind you though that there's still a bill that needs takin' care of."

Tully removed the stogie and deposited it in one of the many pockets of his coveralls.

"You can tell the ole rascal I'll be by tonight to take care of it," he said, "and while you're at it, you can tell him also he still owes me from our last poker game."

Annie nodded. She was well aware of Mr. O'Connor's famed Friday night poker games—Mrs. O' Connor had told her all about it.

She reached for the empty basket. "I'll be sure to tell him."

For one brief moment, she seemed to hesitate, her curious gaze settling once again on the curly top of Amos' head, but then she turned to go.

The men thanked her—all, except for Amos who kept his head buried in the vast engine compartment of the automobile.

It wasn't until the door had closed behind Annie Sullivan that he dared emerging again.

Seamus threw Amos a big grin.

"You sure know how to impress the ladies--"

Amos just sighed, too miserable to say anything.

But Tully's eyes twinkled; he had a pretty good feeling that Annie Sullivan wasn't exactly a stranger to Amos.

"Well, whatcha think, Amos? She's purdy, ain't she?"

"Oh, I reckon she's purdy all right," he admitted quietly, still a little red around the ears. "But that's about all there's to it."

The glazed look in his eyes, however, belied his words, telling Kieran Tully an entirely different story.

.

.

.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

.

.

Annie Sullivan sat in front of the old, worn vanity in her small boarding house room, engaged in the task of removing the dozen or so hair pins it had taken to tame her stubborn, curly tresses.

The room wasn't exactly big, but it was clean and comfortable and it offered everything a single, young woman needed. The room had two large windows, facing the busy street, but with the windows closed and the heavy brocade curtains drawn, the noise was barely noticeable.

There was a steam radiator between the windows, keeping the room at a comfortable temperature.

At twenty-five, she was still unmarried, a fact that her parents had been frowning upon for the past four years. It wasn't for a lack of suitors. She had met her share of eager young men, more than willing to take her to the altar. But, according to Annie, neither one of them had been mature enough and, thus not ready for such a serious commitment.

Four months ago, she had moved out of her parents' home. Of course, old fashioned as her parent were, they had not liked the idea of a single young woman living by herself very much. Knowing their daughter's stubbornness and determination, they had reluctantly supported her decision, even called upon a few favors and secured her employment with old Mr. O'Connor.

Annie regarded her likeness in the mirror. She sighed. There definitely was no way that she could deny her Irish heritage; not with that mass of fiery curls and those green eyes and freckles. Resolutely, she took the brush to her locks, determined to coax them into a more manageable shape. Maybe she should just cut it off, she mused, bob it, as it was the fashion these days. Maybe Amos would notice her then.

_Amos_. Yes, she liked his name. It suited him fine. Annie wondered how she could go about finding out his last name. He was definitely Irish, she decided. Living and working on the south side of Chicago, he had to be.

Annie smiled to herself as her thoughts turned to the first time she had noticed him. It has happened several weeks ago; he had spoken with Father Murray and a few others after Sunday mass. He had smiled and laughed at something one of the men had said. Right away, Amos had caught her attention. That boyish smile of his, that impish sparkle in his eye as he had laughed had been enough to peak her interest.

Annie pursed her lip, wondering how old he was. He was definitely older, she decided--maybe in his mid-thirties. That was just perfect; she preferred a man who was a little older, a little more mature.

Although he seemed to be a little on the shy side, he had a reputation for being a good man, kind-hearted and caring.

Yes, she decided, there was a very good chance that Amos could be _the_ one.

She heaved a small sigh; now if she could only get his attention.

.

.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

.

.

Empty again. For another moment, Amos stared dejectedly at the lone egg occupying the only shelf inside his icebox, then he swung the door shut. He straightened with a sigh. There was no way of avoiding it anymore; if he didn't want to go hungry tonight, he had to go down to O'Connor's grocery to stock up. Ever since the disaster at the garage last week, he had stubbornly avoided paying the grocery a visit, too embarrassed to face Annie again; now it seemed that he didn't have a choice anymore.

Amos grabbed a comb and a half-empty tube of Brilliantine from the kitchen sink and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. An endearingly homely-looking mug with a pair of friendly green eyes stared back at him. He sighed again as he squeezed some of the tube's contents onto the comb.

_Men were definitely not meant to live their lives alone_, he decided ruefully as he began to coax his reddish-brown crop of tight curls, courtesy of his mother, into submission. Granted, Roxie had been anything but the perfect wife, but at least she had kept the icebox and the pantry stocked, and most of the time, he had been able to count on a warm meal at night—even if it had been anything but good at times.

Finally satisfied with the results of his grooming efforts, Amos grabbed his well-worn, wool tweed scally cap and scarf from the kitchen table and left.

.

It was only a short walk down Cicero to where the grocery was, but tonight, an icy wind was howling sharply, carrying with it the promise of more snow. Hands shoved deep into his pants' pockets, Amos kept his gaze lowered as he hurried along, the echo of his footsteps carried off by the powerful gusts.

The usually busy street was now all but abandoned; only a few cars passed him as he made his way down the sidewalk, even fewer people did.

Amos slowed his step. His earlier determination was suddenly beginning to crumble a little at the memory of his embarrassing encounter with Annie at the garage.

But before he could dwell on it any further, the grocery, with its brightly lit shop windows was already before him. Too tired and hungry to give in to his urge to turn back around, Amos took a deep breath and entered.

Immediately, the bright tinkling of the door chime announced his presence.

"Be right with yaou," the elderly proprietor's voice called from the back room seconds later.

Amos stepped up to the counter to let his eyes wander over the dozens of different kinds of sausages and cheeses, trying to decide what sounded good.

Old Mr. O' Connor's wife was German which accounted for the abundance of German delicacies the store carried. There were dry-cured farmer's sausages alongside delicious smoked bangers, blood pudding next to huge slabs of Bavarian smoked ham and everything else in between one could imagine. The wall behind the counter was lined with slanted, wooden shelves, holding at least half a dozen different kinds of breads.

A huge, wooden barrel of sauerkraut stood at the right end of the counter, next to a barrel containing fresh pickles.

The sight and smell of it all made Amos realize how hungry he really was.

Bending down, he moved his face closer to the glass.

"What can I get for you?"

In an instant, Amos' head snapped up—only to find Annie Sullivan smiling down at him from behind the counter.

Her smile widened even more when she recognized him.

"Amos, isn't it?" she said, unnecessarily. Their eyes locked for one brief moment, and Annie could see the startled expression in his expressive green eyes. There was also something else there, something deeper; but before she could dwell on it any further, Amos had already averted his gaze, breaking the spell.

Hastily, he plucked his cap off.

"Yes, ma' am," he answered automatically, bobbing his head like the lure on a fishing line.

It took Annie all the restraint she could muster to keep from chuckling out loud.

"Actually, it's 'miss'," she replied, smiling bemused instead, "I ain't married."

Amos' hands were nervously fidgeting with the small brim of his cap, a deep, embarrassed blush rising in his cheeks at the perceived blunder. But he smiled bravely, determined to make a better second impression.

"Miss," he repeated obediently, feeling a little more at ease when he saw the friendly twinkle in her eye. _Eyes as green as his own, _he noticed once again._  
_

Annie regarded him expectantly.

"So," she wondered, "what can I get for you?"

Completely smitten, Amos was a little slow at shifting gears.

"G-get?" he echoed confused. "Oh, yeah," he then suddenly remembered, "right."

He pointed to the bangers. "I'll take some of those, some milk, soda bread and maybe some of that cheese there."

.

Annie was busy wrapping up Amos' purchases when Mr. O' Connor emerged from the back room. He was a soft-spoken, slight man in his sixties with a mustache and receding reddish-blonde hair, which he kept strategically combed back over his thinning top.

He greeted Amos and then turned to Annie, scratching his ear. "Annie, I darn near forgot to tell you that Sean's not gonna be able to walk you home tonight."

The young woman glanced up at her employer.

"Oh, that's fine, Mr. O'Connor," she said, sounding decidedly not too disappointed, "I don't mind walkin' a bit. Besides, it's not that far an' the fresh air'll do me good."

What she felt more like saying was that she couldn't care less if Sean O'Connor ever were to walk her home again. The young man had been quite obnoxious, making unsuccessful passes at her on a daily basis. The only thing that had saved him from a good thrashing, which Annie had been more than ready to bestow upon him, was the fact that he was her employer's youngest son.

O' Connor was about to object, but then his speculating gaze turned on Amos. For a moment, he studied the young man with deep interest.

"Say, Amos, you wouldn't mind walkin' the lass here home, would you?"

In an instant, Amos' eyes lit up. _Would he mind?_

"No---yes," he said immediately, "I mean—I mean, no—no," he ran a nervous hand over his carefully groomed mop of hair, "I wouldn't mind at all." He cast Annie a nervous glance, smiling shyly. "If that's all right with you."

Annie was delighted. _ It was definitely all right with her, what a question!_

She gave him a little nod and returned the smile, praying that her excitement wasn't too obvious. But before she could frame a response, Mr. O'Connor was already speaking for her.

"Course it's all right with Annie," he said, satisfied that he was able to work things out so quickly. He turned back on Annie who had just finished wrapping up Amos' package of goodies.

"You better get yer things, lass," he said, nodding towards the rear of the store, "the man ain't got all night, you know."

.

It didn't take Annie long to get herself ready and a few minutes later, she was stepping out into the cold night through the door Amos was holding for her.

"G' Night, you two," said O' Connor with a parting smile before he locked the door behind them.

* * *

.

The wind had died down, but the air was still bitterly cold, and to top it all off, it had also begun to flurry.

For the first couple of minutes, the two walked alongside each other in amicable silence, each stealing quick glances at the other now and then.

Annie's hands were crossed over her chest, her hands tucked underneath her upper arms against the biting cold. Amos was trudging along beside her, hands buried deeply in the pockets of his simple worker's coat, the package tucked securely underneath his arm.

It was Annie who finally broke the silence.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," she said, casting the much taller man beside her a quick side-glance.

Amos peered down at her sideways_. _

"Do what?" he wondered confused.

"Walk with me…I'm sure you got better things to do--"

_Better things? What could possibly be better than walk Annie home?_ Amos thought.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all, really," he assured her earnestly, "better than sittin' down at Molly Malone's, listenin' to the guys makin' no sense at all after a couple o' drinks."

Annie laughed at that and the ice was broken.

The sound sent a tingling sensation straight down Amos' spine. He decided that it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

"Well, if that's the case, I thank you kindly, Amos." She stopped and looked up at him inquiringly, "say, I don't even know your last name."

The streetlight they had stopped under, cast a warm glow on the two figures beneath it and Amos could see the warmth in her emerald eyes.

He smiled. "It's Hart, Amos Hart," he said.

Annie pulled her right hand out from underneath her arm and held it out. She smiled warmly.

"Annie, Annie Sullivan. It's a pleasure, Amos Hart."

Amos' heart gave a leap the moment his fingers touched hers. Her hand was so small, compared to his own. So soft, compared to his rough, calloused mechanic's hand. He suddenly remembered how, Roxie had always complained about it.

For one brief moment, Amos' eyes rested on their joined hands then he lifted his gaze to meet hers again. He smiled self-consciously.

"The pleasure's all mine, Annie Sullivan," he said softly, and then quickly withdrew his hand.

For the remainder of the walk, the two engaged in pleasant small talk, discussing the weather, music and the latest news.

Soon, much too soon to Amos' dismay, they found themselves standing in front of the old two-story brick building which was home to Annie's boarding house.

"Well," she said as she stopped at the base of the stairs, "this is where I live."

Amos felt a surge of disappointment. Feverishly, he began to search for something to say, anything that would give him a few more precious minutes with her.

He awkwardly cleared his throat. "Here, let me walk you up, Miss Annie," he suggested helpfully.

She nodded smiling and began to ascend the old concrete staircase ahead of him.

Quickly, Amos hurried after her.

As soon as they arrived at the front of the weathered, wooden double doors, they were greeted by a fluctuating mesh of voices coming from the inside. It was as inviting as it was loud, telling Annie that the boarding house guests had assembled for dinner.

She smiled up at him again. "Thank you, Amos, that was awfully nice of you."

Amos shifted nervously. Standing so close to her, he could smell the faint scent of lavender soap on her. It made his heart beat faster.

"Oh, like I said—no trouble at all," he waved her off, "glad to 've been able to help."

Annie's hand hesitated on the door handle. She lifted her gaze to meet his.

"I hope to see you again soon," she said, smiling sincerely.

Amos shuffled a little, trying to think of something appropriate to say.

"Y-You sure you don't want me to come inside with you?" he stammered the first thing that popped into his mind. He motioned with his head towards the door. "Sounds mighty rowdy in there."

Annie was quite flattered by his protectiveness, but didn't see it quite proper to have a man accompany her up to her room_. _If Miss O' Halloran saw them—she'd have a lot of explaining to do.

"I'll be fine, Amos, really," she assured him, but a faint hint of regret was evident in her eyes.

Amos realized that he couldn't prolong their farewell any longer without looking like a fool again.

"Well, if you're sure then--" he conceded reluctantly.

With that, his hand reached for the door handle, depressing it for her. The wooden door swung inwards with a squeak of the rusty hinges, revealing a long, well-lit corridor with a wooden staircase to the right of it.

Annie took a step forward and paused when she was level with Amos. For the first time, she realized how much taller he really was; the top of her head barely reached to his shoulder. She could smell the faint odor of axle grease on him, mixed with the distinct musky scent of Barbasol aftershave. She liked it.

Amos' shoulders slumped ever so slightly. He would have loved to spend a little more time with her.

"Well, good night, Miss Annie," he muttered, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice.

It wasn't lost on Annie, and she couldn't help but think that Amos looked as downtrodden and sad as a little boy who had just lost his beloved puppy.

Before Amos knew what was happening, Annie had placed one hand on his arm to support herself, stood on her toes and—dropped a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Bye, Amos," she said softly, and with that—she was gone.

.

It took poor Amos a moment or so to get his wits about him again; but by the time he did, she had already disappeared from sight. All he could hear was the quickly fading echo of her footsteps as she made her way up the narrow, wooden staircase.

For another moment, he simply stood there, dumbfounded. Then his left hand slowly reached up to his cheek where she had kissed him. A broad smile began to spread across his face.

He sighed, savoring the memory of her soft lips pressed so briefly against the scruffy skin of his cheek. To his dismay, the moment had been over before he could fully appreciate it.

By now, the flurries had turned into big, heavy snowflakes and begun to cover everything with a sparkling blanket of white.

Amos sighed happily as he slowly began to descend the stairs. _Yes, this was definitely the best day he had had in a long time._

_._

_._

_.  
_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

.

.

For the next three weeks Amos kept his pantry and icebox well stocked by making nightly trips down to O' Connor's grocery.

Of course, it didn't take old man O'Connor long to figure out the reason behind Amos' sudden daily visits and soon, his son Sean was no longer needed to accompany Annie home at night. And since Mr. O'Connor knew, Mrs. O'Connor knew—meaning, the entire south side knew about Amos Hart and Annie Sullivan.

"Evenin', Annie," Amos greeted her cheerfully as he quickly slipped through the door into the comforting warmth of the grocery.

It was only the end of November, but already did the winter have a fast hold on the city of Chicago.

Annie looked up from behind the counter where she was standing, busy tallying up an order. She smiled when she saw the familiar face of the man who had stolen her heart, beaming at her happily.

"Hello, Amos, " she said as she tucked a stray red curl back behind her ear that had fallen onto her forehead.

Amos stepped up closer, holding his battered scally cap with both hands in front of him. For a moment, he studied her precariously listing topknot of thick, red curly hair, trying to imagine what it would look like tumbled down around her bare shoulders.

The stray sensual thought triggered a dull ache in his lower body that took Amos by surprise. He suddenly felt the need to shift a little.

"You about ready?" he wondered with a nod at the tally sheet in front of her.

Annie put the pencil down and lifted her gaze to meet his.

"I'm afraid, it's gonna be a little while longer, Amos," she apologized, "Mr. O'Connor's gone to make a delivery to the widow O' Leary. Said he didn't want me out there in the dark all by myself."

Amos shuffled his feet. His fingers toyed with the brim of his cap as he gave her his most earnest look.

"Well, I wouldn't want you out there by yerself either," he said, "no tellin' who's out there after dark, up to no good."

His fierce sense of protectiveness made Annie smile. "I don't think I'd be afraid--not if you were with me."

Amos' obvious concern for her was truly touching, but the opportunity to tease him a little was simply too good to pass up. She raised a mischievous brow.

"Are _you_ ever up to no good, Amos?"

Amos looked at her, at the humor lurking in her emerald eyes. He rubbed his forehead, not quite sure how to respond.

"What d'you mean?" he wondered confused.

An amused smile began to curve Annie's lips. _Poor Amos, he was so clueless at times._ But his boyish innocence was a quality that endeared him even more to her.

She heaved a small sigh but kept smiling.

"Oh, Amos, never mind."

For the past three weeks now had Amos faithfully walked her home every night, made sure she arrived safe and sound at her boarding house. Not once had he tried to kiss her. I t was the same scenario every night; they arrived at the boarding house doors, they said their goodnights and that was it. At Sunday morning mass, he still sat in his old familiar pew, all by himself. When he took her out, he was genial, joked with her, but he always kept a polite, physical distance. _How could a grown man be so shy?_

Annie decided that there had to be a way to break the platonic pattern that was forming in their relationship. She quickly came to the conclusion that Amos needed a little nudge in the right direction.

She wiped her hands on the white apron, courtesy of Mrs. O'Connor, and then pulled it off, placing it on the counter.

"Come on, Amos," she said resolutely as she stepped around the counter. With an engaging smile, she held her hand out to him.

For a second, he simply looked at her, puzzled, then his eyes turned to her small hand, stretched out, waiting.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached for it, his heart instantly beating faster as her fingers intertwined with his. _How soft and warm her hand was, _he couldn't help but think._  
_

"Where we goin'?" he wondered curiously as she began to lead him towards the back of the store.

Annie didn't bother turning, so Amos didn't see the mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"You'll see," she replied cheerfully instead.

Before he knew it, he found himself in the storage room at the rear of the grocery. The small, rectangular room was windowless, illuminated only by a lone light bulb dangling from the cracked plaster ceiling. The walls around them were mostly hidden by sturdy, wooden shelves that reached from the floor to the ceiling. They were stacked to capacity with all kinds of goods imaginable. At the far end was the backdoor, leading into the alley, and beside it was Mr. O'Connor's desk. It was well organized, containing several ledgers and two neat stacks of papers. There was an old beat-up wooden table in the middle of the room with three, equally battered chairs sitting around it.

Annie closed the door behind them.

"What're you doin', Annie?"

By now, Amos was feeling more than just a little confused. He took a few, uncertain steps back, but his progress was abruptly halted as his backside bumped into the table. Now he stood there, a rather befuddled look on his face, his old tweed cap in front of him as if some kind of shield.

Annie thought he looked extremely vulnerable—and also very cute. She was very much in love with Amos, and she was certain that the feeling was mutual. All he needed, she figured, was a little encouragement.

Without a word, she quickly pulled her hair free from the pins holding it back, allowing the thick mass of fiery curls to tumble down around her shoulders.

Amos swallowed hard. _What in God's name was she doing?_

"Wh-what're you doin'?" he stammered surprised, unable to tear his gaze away from her.

Annie's heart was pounding wildly within her chest; everything was going to be all right as long as she kept going forward and didn't lose her nerve, she told herself. With a deep breath, she pushed aside the tiny glimmer of uncertainty. She gave Amos her most seductive smile as she walked slowly towards him. With each step, she felt more confident, and soon, excitement and love and a glorious sense of abandon began to leap in her veins. She stopped in front of Amos and took the cap from his nervous hands, carelessly dropping it onto the table behind him. Then she stretched up to stand on her toes and slipped her arms around his neck to pull his face down to meet hers.

For one intense moment, their gazes locked, her green eyes a perfect match to his own, then Annie softly brushed her lips to his.

Amos' eyes went wide with surprise and all he could do was give a muffled moan. His arms were hanging limply at his sides, like useless appendages incapable of movement.

It was over before he really knew what had happened, and by the time he was able to get his wits about him, Annie had already pulled back slightly. She still had her arms hooked around his neck though and was now studying him intently with the full weight of her gaze.

Smiling, she noted the adorable blush that had crept up his cheeks.

Amos took a shaky breath, his heart thumping faster than ever_. Did she really just kiss him? _He touched the tip of his tongue to the corner of his mouth as if checking for proof.

"Do you love me, Amos?"

Her softly spoken query was just enough to break his trance.

He blinked, focusing his gaze on her.

"Huh?"

Annie sighed and gave his shoulders a little shake.

"Do you love you me, ya big oaf?" she repeated, unable to keep from sounding just a little frustrated with his lack of timely response.

Amos blinked again_. What a question—of course he did!_ He had never been more certain about anything in his life. He swallowed a few times to rid himself of the knot that seemed to have suddenly formed inside his throat.

"Oh, Annie, 'course I do--" he croaked hoarsely.

"I love you, Amos Hart, ya big ole fool."

Their eyes met again and this time, Amos responded more favorably when she gently touched her lips to his.

"I love you too, Annie Sullivan," he murmured softly. His voice still held a shy hesitancy as he spoke and Annie saw that he had colored even more at the admission.

If his words alone wouldn't have been enough to convince her, his eyes, filled with complete sincerity definitely were. Annie was quite pleased with herself, but to her own surprise, she found that she wanted more--she wanted Amos to want her. Her fingers began to caress the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck.

"Prove it," she challenged him softly, her mouth now only inches from his again.

Amos' eyes went wide, still somewhat mindful of their location.

"Y-you mean here?" he stammered surprised as her fingers began to toy with the top button of his shirt.

Nodding, Annie eased the button free and then moved to the next one. Before he knew, the last button was undone and her fingers had parted his shirt.

"Annie," he pleaded weakly as her hand slipped beneath his undershirt where it began to gently glide across the fuzz of soft curly hair that stretched across his chest between the nipples.

Instead of replying, Annie stretched up and brushed her lips against his again, this time, teasing forth a tentative response.

Amos groaned softly. He found her lips soft and yielding beneath his own as he finally kissed her back, shyly, tenderly.

He liked how her palm felt on his chest and the way her clothed breasts rubbed against his stomach. In fact, he liked it a little _too_ much; his overwhelmed body was responding eagerly and he had little doubt that she could feel it for herself, pressing herself against him like she did.

His thoughts were quickly confirmed when he felt her fingers teasingly glide along his stomach, tracing the waistband of his pants.

He sucked in a sharp breath_. Oh, dear Lord!_ How was he supposed to ignore that?

Groaning with desire, Amos finally gave up any attempts at restraint; his hands settled on Annie's hips, pulling her against his body. It had been a long time since he had felt so aroused. Even though he and Roxie had shared a bed for little over two years, only on occasion had she allowed him to exercise his husbandly rights.

His head dipped and he found her mouth again. He kissed her hungrily, passionately, barely taking notice as she helped him shrug out of his jacket and then pulled his suspenders down. His hands, hot and eager were confidently traveling all over her body now, exploring, caressing, molding her curves. He could feel the warmth of her skin radiating through the soft fabric of her dress as his calloused hands stroked the small of her back. He buried his face in her soft tresses, the subtle, flowery scent of her perfume tantalizing his senses, intoxicating him. _God, how good she smelled! _

Annie's hands slid down to settle on his own, guiding them up to palm her clothed breasts.

Immediately, Amos stilled, but Annie knew exactly what she wanted him to do.

"Touch me," her voice, now husky with desire, whispered into his ear.

Amos gulped; he wasn't sure what aroused him more--the meaning of her words, or the way she had whispered them into his ear. Pulling back slightly, his hot gaze settled on her breasts, riveted by the sight of his big hands cupping them tentatively.

"Amos," she pleaded breathlessly as she pressed herself against him.

Slowly, hesitantly at first, his fingers began to knead the generous mounds, but Annie's soft sounds of pleasure soon emboldened him and his thumbs began to rub her nipples through the soft fabric of her dress, quickly working them into stiffened peaks.

"Yes, Amos," she breathed her appreciation. Her fingers tangled in his, by now rather messy, short crop of curls where they continued to tease the sensitive nape of his neck.

_Oh, holy mother! _Amos couldn't suppress a moan. This was unlike anything he had ever dared doing with Roxie; no matter how hard he had tried--even in bed, she had always made him feel like an incompetent fool who never seemed to be able to do anything right.

Annie wasn't anything like that. Suddenly, he felt a surge of confidence he never knew existed within him.

Without warning, he slipped his hands down to either side of her waist, and before Annie knew, he had lifted her up, swung her around and set her down onto the table behind him.

"Much better," he murmured satisfied before she could object. Burying his face in her coppery tresses again, he began to trail hot kisses down her neck to the lightly freckled swell of her breasts.

"Wait," whispered Annie suddenly. Feeling his big fingers fumble with the buttons that ran down the front of the bodice of her dress, she quickly undid the top half-dozen for him.

Amos' breath caught as Annie parted the bodice, completely exposing her perfect breasts to him. For a second, all he could do was stare at the firm little mounds with their rosy little peaks. But then Annie's fingers slid through his hair again, urging his face down. Her action left no doubt as to what she wanted him to do, and Amos obliged her willingly; dipping his head, he latched on to a taut nipple, suckling, teasing it a little before turning his attention to the other.

Above him, Annie was moaning with pleasure, her hot hands anchored firmly on either side of his shoulders for support. He glanced up at her without stopping what he was doing, to find her eyes half closed, glazed with passion. The sight and sounds of her were sending jolts of raw desire straight to his very core. With gentle pressure, he eased her back onto the table, all the while continuing his administrations. He was standing between her parted legs and Annie could feel the heaviness of his arousal pressing hard against the inside of her thigh. It sent a delicious shudder surging through her. Her hands slipped down his shoulders, pulling him closer to her, melting their bodies into one.

_Oh, dear Lord! _Amos couldn't remember ever feeling so good--

The sudden tinkling of the door chime brought their intimate encounter to an abrupt end.

Amos' head snapped up. He let go of Annie.

In a flash, Annie had pushed him aside and slid off the table. Her alarmed gaze darted to the door.

"Oh, sweet Jesus!" she moaned. Hastily, she began to button up her dress.

"Go an' make yerself decent," she urged Amos as she quickly slipped button after button into its corresponding hole, " an' hurry up!"

"Annie?" the familiar voice of old Mr. O'Connor carried through the closed door.

If Annie's words didn't, the grocer's query was enough to get Amos moving.

"Oh, goodness!" he groaned miserably as he scrambled to button up his shirt and pull up his suspenders all at the same time. His groin was aching, thrumming dully with unsatisfied need.

The scuffling sound of footsteps was coming closer.

Annie was trying to fix her hair when the footsteps suddenly stopped.

"Annie?" Mr. O' Connor's inquiring voice sounded from the other side of the door.

Annie turned to Amos and quickly put a finger to her lips, motioning him to remain silent. "Shhhh," she said as she moved to crack open the door a little.

Right away, old man O'Connor stuck his head in.

"Annie, what's---" he started to say, but stopped short when he saw a rather befuddled-looking Amos standing a few feet behind her.

"What's goin' on here?" he demanded as he pushed past Annie into the room.

His eyes fell on Amos whose countenance had taken on a decidedly crimson hue; hair mussed, the buttons on his shirt mismatched, he presented a rather sorry appearance.

He turned his bespectacled gaze on Annie who admittedly looked somewhat better, but a little out of sorts nonetheless. It was obvious that her hair had been twisted into position in a hurry, anchored with a few pins, and left to flounder under its own weight. The old man quickly put two and two together.

"What're you two doin' in my storage?" he demanded again, quite unnecessarily.

Timothy O' Connor may have been old, but he was neither blind nor deaf. After all, a storage room, similar to this was one, was where he had gotten to know Mrs. O'Connor _quite_ well. He should have felt sorry for the two, but he decided to have a little fun first.

"Well?" he prompted when a reply wasn't immediately forthcoming.

"Ah…." was all Amos could manage as he feverishly searched for something plausible to say.

"Well, you see--" Annie tried coming to his aid, but for once, she, too, was at a loss for words.

It afforded Mr. O'Connor great effort to keep from smiling. He decided, he had tortured the two enough.

"You better go an' straighten up that counter, Annie," he told her sternly with a nod towards the door--making it very clear that he wanted a word alone with Amos.

Annie cast Amos a quick, encouraging glance, winked and mouthed, "I love you," and then exited room.

Mr. O'Connor closed the door behind her and then turned to Amos.

"It's not what you think, sir—" Amos tried explaining immediately, but the older man quickly raised a hand to stop the flow of words.

"I may be old, but I ain't no fool, lad. You really think that I don't know what ye two were doin' in here?" He paused to clear his throat, but by now, he couldn't keep from smiling anymore. "Whaddya think how I ended up with Mrs. O'Connor?"

Amos wasn't sure what to say—he was just relieved that Mr. O'Connor wasn't upset anymore.

He offered the older man an uncertain smile.

"You see, sir," he said, scratching his cheek as if it helped him think better, "I love Annie, I really do, an'—"

Mr. O'Connor's smile vanished. He nodded.

"I'm sure you do, laddie." For a moment, he said nothing more, his assessing gaze locked with Amos'.

"You'd better plan on makin' an honest woman outta, her Amos," he finally said.

Amos' head bopped up and down earnestly.

"Oh, yes, sir," he exclaimed enthusiastically, "I—"

"Well that's what I thought," O'Connor interrupted him again, smiling broadly now. "Now go on an' make yerself decent," he added, pointing out the disheveled state of Amos' clothing. "And then take her home, lad, this store's closed."

.

.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

A little note from the author: This chapter contains some explicit sexual content (done in good taste, of course).....So, if this is not your thing.....please click the "back" button in your browser now. Otherwise, enjoy! ;)

.

.

Snowflakes had begun to fall heavily from the gray night sky above, melting quickly as they settled on the two figures standing on the empty sidewalk in front of O'Connor's grocery.

His hands stuffed down into his pants pockets, Amos glanced down at the much smaller woman before him.

He wasn't quite sure whether he wanted to be amused or embarrassed.

"And you suppose that was funny--" he grumbled, still feeling rather self-conscious.

Annie met his gaze squarely and giggled.

"Well, you did look kinda funny with your buttons mismatched an' all—"

Amos took a deep breath and sighed. _He must have been a rather sorry sight._ For a moment, he held her gaze, his mouth twitching, and then—he couldn't help it--he grinned, despite himself.

"I s'pose you're right," he chuckled, "it was kinda funny—"

His eyes were positively twinkling now and they both laughed. Then Amos face turned serious.

"Come home with me, Annie," he said, his eyes beseeching her as he held his hand out to her. "Please."

He couldn't imagine leaving her at the boarding house, going home by himself. Not after what had transpired earlier. He wanted, needed her—not only tonight, but tomorrow and the day after, and the day after. He never wanted to spend another night alone again.

Annie stood quietly, her hands wrapped around herself against the cold.

"I don't know, Amos." She shifted her gaze from his hand up to his eyes. "What about your neighbors? What'll they think if they see us?"

Amos shook his head.

"I don't give a damn," he declared loudly, "let 'em talk if they want to." He paused and then added quietly, "come with me, Annie. Please."

When she didn't respond right away, he stepped up to her and gently placed his hands on either side of her shoulders.

"Look," he began, his eyes holding hers intently, pleading with her, "I ain't good with words, Annie. All I know is that I love you. Please, I don't wanna be alone tonight—an' I know neither do you."

She looked up at him. It was true. Amos was right. She couldn't imagine spending the rest of the night, the rest of her life without him. So what, if his neighbors started talking?

A mischievous smile slowly spread across her face.

"What're we waitin' for then?" she said, "we're liable to freeze to death if we stand around here any longer." She hooked her arm into the crook of Amos' elbow. "Lead the way."

.

.

"Well, here we are," announced Amos a short while later when they arrived on the threshold to his flat. His hand was shaking as he clumsily inserted the key into the lock. A moment later, the scratched-up door with its faded brown paint swung open with a squeak.

Annie stepped inside ahead of him and then turned to wait for Amos to catch up with her. He flicked on the light switch and immediately, a single light bulb above their heads hummed to life, illuminating the small hallway. He motioned Annie ahead.

"I know it ain't much," he began to apologize when he saw her survey her surroundings, "but it's clean an' it's quiet."

Annie's assessing eyes took in the kitchen they where now standing in. It was of a decent size, she thought, with painted plaster walls and ceilings. There were two long, narrow windows on one side with a steam radiator between them. The back wall housed a blue and white-enameled cast iron cook stove and a small icebox. A wooden dining table with two chairs sat in the middle of the room.

Annie turned towards him, smiling sincerely.

It's nice, Amos," she said.

He placed the groceries on the table and then removed his cap and scarf.

"You wanna see the rest?" he wondered. He nodded towards a doorway on the opposite wall.

Annie shrugged out of her overcoat and placed it on one of the chairs.

"I'd love to."

Amos smiled in response.

"This way," he said motioning her ahead. He lead her through the living room into the last room beyond. With a quick flick of the light switch, the room lit up.

"It could use a litte decoratin'," he pointed out apologetically with a nod at the bare walls. After Roxie had left, he had made sure that not one single thing had remained, reminding him of her.

Annie quickly glanced around the dimly lit room and then turned around to the man standing so close behind her, that she could feel the heat in him. It brought back the memory of how good it had felt to have his warm body pressed against her own.

"I can see that," she said, chuckling softly. It was quite apparent to her that this was a bachelor's bedroom. There was a double bed against one wall, facing the three tall, narrow windows on the wall across from it. To the left of the bed stood small bedside table, holding an alarm clock and a table lamp, the shade of which clearly had seen better days. A tall wooden dresser stood against the wall next to an opening, leading into a small washroom. The only items hinting at the fact that this room had once been co-occupied by a woman were the beautiful wooden vanity, sitting to the left of the door and the faded blue wallpaper, dotted with small, white flowers.

Amos shrugged, suddenly a tad self-conscious.

"Well, with it just bein' me, you know—" he started to say, but the sudden sensation of Annie's hand on his wrist silenced him.

"Kiss me," she whispered. She was looking at him with an intensity, it left Amos breathless.

Memories of what had transpired earlier at the grocery were still fresh in his mind. They were hot and sensual memories, that triggered hot, sensual reactions in his body. Wrapping her gently into his arms, he kissed her, slow, soft and lingering. She was warm and soft, and the scent of her filled his head.

When they broke apart a few seconds later, Annie cast him a sly smile and began to slowly undo the buttons of her dress. One by one they gave way to reveal to him her perfect curves.

Amos' heart was hammering with anticipation as he watched her nimble fingers undo button after button.

With a quick shrug Annie rid herself of the garment, allowing it to slide down her shoulders to pool at her ankles.

Amos knew that is wasn't polite to stare, but he couldn't help it; all she was wearing now, was a silky slip—something he hadn't noticed earlier. The delicate, salmon-colored garment was clinging rather provocatively to her body, perfectly molding her every curve. He moaned softly, the mere sight of her eliciting all kinds of potent reactions in certain parts of his anatomy.

"Amos—"

Her soft inquiry was just enough to rouse him from his reverie.

"You asked me earlier if I wanna see the rest," she whispered. She stepped up close to him again, letting her hands come to rest on his hips. "I do."

The double meaning of her words wasn't lost on Amos—mostly because Annie's gaze had settled on the rather prominent bulge at the front of his pants. Before he could frame a response, her hands had already begun to free him of his suspenders.

Not wanting to look like a fool again, his fingers flew up and began to fumble with his shirt buttons, quickly making short work of it. His ribbed undershirt followed seconds later, joining his shirt and Annie's dress on the rug.

Amos was intensely aware of her assessing eyes on him. Standing before her, only wearing his pants with the suspenders hanging at his sides, he suddenly couldn't help feel doubt rear its ugly head again. _What was he thinking? She was so beautiful--and he? He certainly wasn't much to look at.  
_

His shoulders slumped slightly. Unable to look her in the eye, his gaze turned to the tips of his shoes_. He wouldn't blame her if she didn't want him after all._

"You sure you wanna do this?" he whispered, all of his harbored insecurities creeping into his voice and posture. He was half-expecting her to make some kind of demeaning remark in regard to his physique as Roxie had so often done. He was by no means "big" or "heavy", but Roxie had liked her men to be more the athletic kind—something Amos simply wasn't.

Annie looked up at him, surprised by the sudden change in his demeanor. _There was nothing that she wanted more at this very moment; she thought she had made that very clear._

"I am," she said smiling patiently. Her eyes were warm, filled with love and sincerity, instantly easing his insecurities. Gently, her fingers intertwined with his. "Come," she whispered and began to lead him towards the bed.

Amos followed willingly. For a moment, he could do nothing but look at her in wonder as they both stood at the foot of the bed, then one of his trembling hands reached forth to touch her cheek. She was looking up at him, and in her eyes, he could see love, and anticipation and, yes, even a little nervousness.

But there was also trust. She trusted him—Amos. Annie truly wanted him. Him. Amos Hart. His heart leaped at the realization, and suddenly, his fear was gone for good.

"Annie," he said softly, "I'm sorry for bein' such a fool...I—"

"Shhh," she whispered, cutting him off. She reached for his hands again and pulled him down onto the bed with her. "Just kiss me, Amos."

By now, he no longer had the will to doubt anything, and he complied happily, kissing her hungrily, passionately. His hands slid down her back, to the more lush curves of her bottom, pulling her firmly against him. He was aroused, and wound more tightly that he'd ever imagined possible, and all he could think was that he needed her closer. His mouth left hers to trail gentle kisses down her throat and to the freckled swell of her breast. His hands, hot and eager found the hem of her garment and slipped underneath, sliding it upwards until his hands came to rest on the outer curve of her breasts.

Annie moaned her approval. She knew exactly what she wanted him to do. She wanted to feel him cupping her, holding her entirely in his palm. She wanted to feel his fingers brushing against her nipples again—just as he had done earlier.

_God_, she wanted him to touch her so badly. She felt hot and tingly and it was spreading; it had moved from her breasts to her belly, to the spot between her legs.

"Amos, please," she pleaded, and this time, he knew exactly what she wanted him to do.

In a flash, he had rid himself of his heavy worker's shoes. Then he stood to make short work of his pants and the scratchy, long, woolen underpants he wore underneath.

Annie chuckled.

"They don't look very comfortable," she said.

Amos smiled rather lopsidedly.

"They ain't," he said, shaking his head slightly, "trust me."

She chuckled again.

"Well, remind me not to buy any for myself."

Amos' smile broadened as he tried to picture her wearing his woolen undergarments.

"I don't think they come in your size," he pointed out, his eyes twinkling with humor.

Annie laughed. Not because of what he had said, but rather because it was all so funny. Here he was, standing in front of her naked, for heaven's sake, clearly aroused, and they were discussing the relative unpleasantness of woolen underwear.

Annie lowered herself back against the soft covers, her arms stretched out towards him.

"C'mere, you," she whispered seductively, and Amos obliged.

The mattress creaked, dipping under his weight as he climbed onto the bed. He was half beside her, half atop of her now. His hands propped on either side of her shoulders, he gazed down at her, studying her intently.

"You really sure you wanna do this?" he wondered one last time—just to be sure.

Annie's hands moved to cup his face. Her expression was a mixture of amusement and exasperation. She sighed and then softly kissed his lips. "I want_ you_ Amos Hart," she whispered, " you an' nobody else." Her assuring gaze held his for a beat or two, then her expression became more serious. "Just promise me you be careful, Amos," she said, "make sure there ain't gonna be a baby."

For a moment, Amos could not speak. Then he nodded, because, yes, he could make sure there wasn't going to be a baby. He had spent two years making sure of that with Roxie. And before Roxie, with Rose who, although having been roughly the same age at the time, had been quite a bit more experienced than then twenty-year old Amos. But this was Annie. He loved her and the idea of making a baby with her was a beautiful thought.

"I promise, I'll try," he said as he dipped his head to nuzzle the soft curve of her neck again.

"You'll try?" she echoed. Surely, he wouldn't ignore her plea and then later pretend he'd "tried".

Amos lifted his head to meet her gaze again.

"Annie, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice hoarse with burgeoning passion, "I'll do what I know how to do, I promise. But it ain't always fool proof, ya know—"

His promise was enough to put her mind at ease.

"Thanks, Amos" she whispered back as her hand reached up to stroke his cheek.

Annie relaxed back into the soft covers, deliciously aware of his hot breath against the side of her neck. From here on, everything was going to be foreign territory for her. She wasn't sure what to expect, but she knew that Amos wouldn't disappoint her.

Amos smiled down at her again, his expression earnest.

"I'll promise you, Annie, baby or not, I'm gonna marry you… I'm gonna marry you an' take care of you."

With that, he lowered his face down to hers again, kissing her as if his life depended upon it.

"Amos", she moaned against his mouth as his hand slipped underneath her silky garment again, sliding up her side until he was cradling one of her breasts.

Supporting himself on one elbow, he slid half atop her and nudged one leg between hers. His head dipped again, latching on to one delicious nipple.

"Annie," he murmured, over and over, suckling and teasing until she was writhing beneath him, arching herself into him. His hands, hot and seeking, never stopped touching her. They were on her shoulders, her hips, sliding down the soft planes of her firm belly, past her hip and down to her thigh, caressing, teasing her.

"Don't stop," she begged, her own hands clutching at his shoulders, his arms, anywhere she could gain purchase. And then, just when she thought she could handle no more, one of his hands slipped between her legs. His touch was gentle, but still, it was startling to her. Sure, she had necked around with a few lads before, but never had one touched her in this way.

"Amos," she gasped, not because she wanted him to stop, but because it felt so good, there was no way that she could remain silent.

Immediately, Amos went completely still, his entire body suddenly rigid.

Annie cautiously opened her eyes to find him staring down at her with an expression of slight shock on his face.

"Annie...ah...say, did you ever—" he broke off, struggling to find the right words, "I mean, this isn't your first…?"

She nodded, smiling, and Amos faltered. Ever since he had met her, she had exuded such confidence—he'd never thought it possible that he was going to be her first. Apparently, he had been dead wrong. "I'm so sorry, honey," he said, stricken, "If I'd a known—"

Her sudden kiss silenced him.

"Don't you dare stop now, Amos Hart--"

She kissed him again, more urgent this time as she tightened her already rather firm grip on his shoulders, making very clear what she wanted him to do. She wanted him. She wanted _this_.

Her words and actions left no room for misinterpretation and Amos didn't waste any more time. His mouth moved to cover hers again. Gently at first, but his burgeoning passion soon took over and his kisses became more demanding, more urgent. Soon, his fingers were tickling and teasing her again. She was faintly aware of something rigid, yet soft pressing against her thigh. And then Annie realized that he was no longer just touching her, he was inside of her, his fingers exploring her in a manner so intimate, it left her breathless.

She could feel herself clench around him, wanting more. His breath was hot and ragged against her mouth as he continued to kiss her fiercely. Annie didn't know what to do, didn't know anything except that she didn't want him to stop. She arched against him, wanting more, wanting it all.

Above her, she suddenly felt Amos shudder. He shifted position and his fingers moved away. His body, hot and sweaty, lifted off hers, and Annie wanted to protest. When she looked up at him, he seemed to be straining against some irresistible force. He was holding himself above her, supporting himself on his forearms as he used his legs to part hers.

"Amos—" she started to say his name, but just then she felt him at her entrance, pressing gently forward.

Their eyes met.

"I promise, I'll be careful, Annie" he murmured passionately, "jus' wait…"

"I ain't scared," she whispered back.

He gave her a lopsided smile. "I am."

Annie wanted to ask what he meant, but he had already begun to move forward. She could feel him pushing, slowly opening her, stretching her. There was a sharp, brief pain as the resistance suddenly gave way. Annie sucked in her breath and held it as he sank into her deeper than she ever thought possible; it was the most amazing feeling--he was _inside_ of her.

Immediately, Amos stilled.

"Am I hurtin' you?" he whispered, gazing down at her, concerned.

She shook her head, her eyes holding his.

"No," she said, "I like it."

Amos groaned in response and thrust forward, the sudden motion sending a wave of sensation and pressure through her.

"Amos," she gasped again and grabbed at his shoulders as he started to move within her. He was slow and careful and very, very thorough. Soon, she found herself moving with him, as one, settling into a rhythm as old as mankind.

The feeling, as it washed over her minutes later, was indescribable; unlike anything she had ever felt before. It was so intense, she arched, she moaned, she nearly screamed. Above her, Amos' breathing was quickening, each breath punctuated by a groan as he drove into her, harder and faster than before. And then suddenly, it happened. She felt herself tighten as it was washing over her in wave after delicious wave. She heard herself call out his name as her fingers dug into his shoulder.

Then abruptly, he pulled out of her, groaning her name. Moments later, Annie could feel a warm and sticky wetness spreading across her thigh.

For a few seconds, Amos simply lay exhausted, his damp forehead against her shoulder, his body heavy and inert across hers.

Annie could feel his heart pounding wildly against her own as she held on to him, the warm trickle of his breath tickling the skin of her neck. Feeling wonderfully content and a little sleepy, she gently slid her fingers through the back of his rumpled curls as she waited patiently for his rampant breathing to return to normal.

It took Amos a moment to float to his senses again. Still breathing a little unevenly, he rolled off of her and gathered her into his arms.

"I love you, Annie," he whispered into her hair.

Sleepily, she smiled, her eyes still closed, savoring the aftermath of the most wonderful sensations she had ever felt.

"I love you, too," she murmured against the warmth of his chest.

He dropped a tender kiss on the top of her head and then reached down to pull the warm feather comforter up to cover both of them against the wintry chill that had begun to creep into the room.

"I love you," he whispered again as his hand began to gently stroke her fiery curls.

.

For a long time, they lay in companionable silence, their bodies sated, their minds at ease. Amos continued to hold her close until her breathing had softened to a slow, even sigh and her body had stilled.

He kissed her one last time on the forehead before pulling the covers tighter around them both.

"I love you Annie Sullivan," he whispered as he curled up beside her, "an' I'm gonna make an honest woman outta you."

A song suddenly came to his mind. A song his mother used to sing.

…_She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer, _

_yet 'twas not her beauty alone that won me._

_Oh, no! 'Twas the truth in her eye ever dawning, _

_that made me love Annie, the rose of Tralee…._

Yes, he loved her. And he knew that she loved him. Amos Hart. It didn't matter to her that he was only a simple mechanic, it didn't matter to her that he wasn't very good with words. She loved him for who he was. And that was all, Amos had ever wanted.

.

.

**The End**

**.**

PS: If you enjoyed this story--or even if you didn't, or if you have any suggestions, would you please take a minute or so and let me know?


End file.
